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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23169223">The Two-Headed Calf</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/apatheticAbsorption/pseuds/apatheticAbsorption'>apatheticAbsorption</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Buckle up buckaroos this is gonna be fucking nuts, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, Drowning, Mother-Son Relationship, Reader-Insert, The tags will be updated as the fic updates because brain empty, This is ociel but I just call him Ciel bc I’m stupid and get confused easily, Time Travel, Well almost, and she lives on a farm, reader uses she/her pronouns, truthfully this is just me writing down my dreams of living a yeehaw life with baby son</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:40:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23169223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/apatheticAbsorption/pseuds/apatheticAbsorption</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>tomorrow when the farm boys find this<br/>freak of nature, they will wrap his body<br/>in newspaper and carry him to the museum.</p><p>but tonight he is alive and in the north<br/>field with his mother. it is a perfect<br/>summer evening: the moon rising over<br/>the orchard, the wind in the grass.<br/>and as he stares into the sky, he sees<br/>twice as many stars as usual.</p><p>— Laura Gilpin, “The Two-Headed Calf”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ciel Phantomhive &amp; Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Rapids</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084488">savioress</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsindle/pseuds/sweetsindle">sweetsindle</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Playlist for this chapter:<br/>The Friendly Dark — Laurence Ipsum<br/>You — Petit Biscuit<br/>Stellar — Laurence Ipsum<br/>Absence — Slow Meadow</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By all accounts, he should be dead. His battered and bloodied soul fermenting in his butler’s hindgut and his empty corpse rotting away in an ornate casket, surely buried somewhere on the estate grounds.<br/>
Instead, he finds himself gulping in mouthfuls of water where there should be air, his tiny hands only just reaching far enough above him to breach the surface. His chest tightens as he sucks in another burning lungful of water. He struggles desperately to pull his undershirt free from the rubble it’s trapped under, to no avail. A dark vignette is just starting to close in on his eyesight when a pair of hands pull him free, dragging him to shore and pushing on his breastbone rhythmically. He barely has enough strength to turn his head to the side and cough up what feels like ten gallons of water. His chest and throat burn, he’s shivering like mad, and he’s almost certain that he’s about to have an asthma attack, but he is alive and above water. He forces his eyes open, expecting to see Sebastian in all his cheeky glory.<br/>
Instead, he is greeted by an unfamiliar young woman dressed in men’s clothing. Despite his protesting body, he jumps backwards, yelping in surprise.<br/>
“It’s okay!” The inappropriately dressed woman assures him, hands held out as if to show him that she meant no harm, “Come on. You need to see a doctor.”<br/>
Ciel doesn’t object when the woman picks him up. Her body heat ever so slightly slows the chattering of his teeth. He tries his best to breathe deeply and stave off the oncoming asthma attack, not wanting to show any more weakness than he already has to this stranger. She carries him along a dirt path as though he weighs nothing at all, concerned eyes darting down at him every so often. His vision is blurry and clouded with lethargy by the time she stops walking and lays him down in what he can only assume is an extremely cushy carriage.<br/>
“I need you to stay awake for me, okay?” The woman says in a nervous, wavering voice as the carriage begins to move forward. He nods, although he’s not sure if she can see him— she laid him down on his side, facing the back wall of the carriage—, nor if he can keep himself from losing consciousness. His vision is just beginning to go blurry again when she asks him what his name is.<br/>
He barely has enough time to croak out a pitiful, “Ciel,” before everything goes dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Interrogation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There’s an odd box on the wall in front of him that appears to display moving pictures. He can even hear music and voices coming from the box. It would be mesmerizing if it weren’t so jarring. As his heart rate begins to speed up, he notices an annoying beeping sound in his left ear and an extraordinary amount of wires and needles attached to him. The beeping becomes more frequent as he becomes more anxious, taunting him in its odd, high-pitched voice.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Playlist for this chapter:<br/>Blue Rose on a Windowsill — Slow Meadow<br/>Ghosts in the Brazos — Slow Meadow<br/>Footsteps — Mike Lazarev, Arovane<br/>Venus — Joep Beving</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he awakes, he immediately notices three things. <br/>    Firstly, everything from his head to his toes is excruciatingly painful. It even hurts to breathe, but not in the way that his asthma attacks hurt. This pain is nestled deep within his chest, a raw, aching feeling, almost as if someone were striking him from the inside.<br/>    Secondly, the room he is in is so bright that it causes tears to prick the corners of his eyes. Everything he can see from the angle he’s laying at is either white or gray, and there are large, rectangular lights in the ceiling that make his head hurt if he looks at them for too long.<br/>    Finally, he notices that something is very, <i>very</i> wrong. There’s an odd box on the wall in front of him that appears to display moving pictures. He can even hear music and voices coming from the box. It would be mesmerizing if it weren’t so jarring. As his heart rate begins to speed up, he notices an annoying beeping sound in his left ear and an extraordinary amount of wires and needles attached to him. The beeping becomes more frequent as he becomes more anxious, taunting him in its odd, high-pitched voice.<br/>    A woman dressed head to toe in blue (again, wearing <i>trousers</i> of all things. Did the women here not have access to skirts?) rushes through an oak door, concern etched across her face. She breathes a sigh of relief upon seeing him.<br/>    “Oh, you’re awake, excellent! You had us very worried, young man,” she quips in a friendly, upbeat tone. She takes a seat in a padded stool next to his bed, resting a clipboard on her lap. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”<br/>    “Not at all,” he rasps out, wincing at the pain speaking causes.<br/>    “Alright, what’s your full name?” She asks.<br/>    “Ciel Phantomhive,” he replies. She scribbles his answer down on her clipboard.<br/>    “Your parents’ names?”<br/>    “Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive.”<br/>    “Are they still together, or divorced?”<br/>    “They’re dead,” Ciel replies without a moment of hesitation. The woman blushes deeply, stuttering out an apology.<br/>    “Um, date of birth?” She attempts to recover. He’d roll his eyes if not for the fact that they ache just as much as the rest of his body.<br/>    “December 14, 1875,” he answers firmly. The woman’s eyebrows jump to her hairline, mouth falling open in surprise. She takes a little extra time to write this answer down. Perhaps she was just now realizing that she was in the presence of the Earl of Phantomhive?<br/>    They continue this little back-and-forth until she knows everything short of what the last meal he had was, when she suddenly lifts up the end of his bedsheets and begins poking at the soles of his bare feet.<br/>    “Can you feel this?” She asks, staring expectantly at him.<br/>    “Um, yes?” Ciel replies, dreading whatever else was in store for him, when someone knocks at the door.<br/>    The woman strides over to the door, pulling it open for the person outside. A well-dressed man with a scowl on his face steps into the room. The woman passes him her notes, quietly ducking out of the room. Without realizing it, the boy sinks further under the covers in an attempt to hide from the man. As he walks towards the bed, his scowl softens and his posture relaxes, leading the boy to peek out from behind his wall of fabric.<br/>    “Hello,” he takes a moment to look down at the clipboard, “Ciel. My name is Paul, and I’ll be your caseworker from here on out. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”<br/>    Ciel sighs. This is going to be a long day.</p>
<p>———</p>
<p>    In the waiting room, a young woman sits in one of many padded chairs. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion, but she doesn’t sleep. Her mind is too busy worrying about the child she pulled from the river to allow her any rest. When a nurse dressed in lilac scrubs calls her name, she practically jumps out of her chair despite her exhausted body.<br/>    “Is he alright? Have his parents been contacted?” She asks, brow furrowed with worry.<br/>    “I’ll let him explain. He wanted to see you,” the nurse replies in a wavering tone that does nothing to ease her worries. The nurse gently knocks on the door, pushing it open when she hears a soft invitation inside.<br/>    Ciel’s face is so pale that it’s hard to tell where his skin ends and his bedsheets begin. He almost seems to be out of breath, despite being in bed, and he looks even tinier than before, swaddled in the puffy white comforter.<br/>    Above all else, the poor boy looks terrified. The woman pads gently over to the bed, awkwardly kneeling down to his level and flashing him a friendly grin.<br/>    “Glad to see you’re awake, kiddo. I’m sure your parents are worried sick about you,” she says in what is meant to be a reassuring tone. Instead, a downtrodden look flashes across his face. His gaze falls to his hands, where he nervously twiddles his thumbs.<br/>    “I’m starting to think you people are mocking me,” he mumbles, a frown gracing his lips, “my parents are dead. They died in the fire that burned down the Phantomhive manor on December 14, 1885. What about that do you not understand?” He continues. His words drop heavily from his exhausted mouth, and yet they’re gilded with anger and sorrow. They tug at the young woman’s heartstrings, but not before they send her head reeling. She glances back at the nurse, who looks to be having a similar reaction.<br/>    “Do you mind leaving us alone for a moment?” She asks. The nurse nods, quietly stepping out of the room. It isn’t until she hears the “click” of the door that the woman turns back to the boy.<br/>    “Your name’s Ciel, right? Mine’s (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you,” she holds out her hand for him to shake. He hesitates before taking it, a wary look in his eye, “Can you tell me what year it is, honey?”<br/>    Ciel has to fight not to scoff at the pet name, “It was 1889, last I checked,” he replies, voice devoid of even the slightest trace of irony, “The people here must be mad. My ‘caseworker’ told me that the current year is 2020, and that I must be suffering from some sort of head injury,” his fists tighten around the hem of the comforter, betraying his blank expression. “You probably think I’m mad too, don’t you?”<br/>    (Y/N) hums, a slight smile gracing her lips, and the boy scowls.<br/>    “It doesn’t make any sense, but despite everything, I still believe you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic is HEAVILY inspired by sweetsinidle’s “savioress” and the discussions we’ve had about it/its future. If ur reading this ily b</p></blockquote></div></div>
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